maccreadysbaby

[maccreadysbaby]

thank you😭😭😭😭

House of Wolves

batfamily + oc insert

tw: none

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

I know it’s been a hot minute but... hi. I'm still here and so are our boys. please keep loving them with me!

part thirteen

❝ FAMILY ❞

SATURDAY — JUNE 10 — 3:31am

ROCKIE’S BED WAS SUDDENLY REALLY COLD.

He squirmed around with a muted groan, determined to find a more comfortable position, but his blanket seemed to have vanished out of thin air.

Begrudgingly, he peeled his eyes open and blinked rapidly at the harsh white light that assaulted them. Since when was it so bright in his room? It took a few moments for his surroundings to sink in, for his eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness. But when they did, his stomach dropped.

Rockie sat straight up, his heart already slamming in his chest as he looked in a full circle around him. His bed wasn't warm because he wasn't on his bed. He was sitting on a metal table in the center of a white room, in a thin cream hospital gown that came a little past his knees. There was a sliding door ahead of him, metal and solid, eerily reminiscent of the doors back at Redwood Academy.

He fiddled with the hem of the gown in an attempt to determine if it was real. Bruce had told him to touch things in his nightmares, that it wasn't real if he couldn’t feel it, but what use was that if his nightmares were so realistic that he could feel it all? 

There were several different machines circling him, but none of them looked like anything he’d ever seen before; futuristic and strange with functions he had no hope of identifying. There were tubes and wires leading from the machines to his body — and that's when he realized there was something on his head.

He lifted a hand to his hair and felt a spiderweb of wires there, attached to his head by dozens of t-shaped patches that were buried against his scalp. There were a few screens visible on the machines, but none of them made any sense. He focused on the machine most of the wires seemed to run to, leveling his gaze on a black screen with neon green text dancing across it.

// #MT04007, VITALS: NORMAL // HEART RATE: SAFE // AUG.CON.TIME.REM: 0:33SEC // PSY.DAM.CON.DAM.TIME.REM 0:38SEC // CON.STR: UV1-UV8 // CON.AQU: #MM04008 // 

Rockie tried to make sense out of any of it, but he couldn't, besides the fact that his heart rate was apparently at a safe speed and his vitals were normal. A second screen sitting a few feet behind that one was flashing disorientingly. Despite the high-tech look of the place he was in, this screen was black and white, and flickering with static like a really old television. There was a picture on it but it was hard to make out.

Rockie, with a quick exhale, began to rip the wires off of his scalp. Where was he? Where was Bruce? How had he gotten out of the manor? He wracked his brain to remember but nothing came of it. Wasn’t he just sleeping? Surely no one could’ve broken in and taken him. Had something happened to him? Was he in some kind of high tech secret vigilante hospital?

“Bruce?” He found himself calling, detaching more of the wires from his scalp with small hisses of pain. There was a keypad next to the door, so he assumed leaving required a code. Still, he swung his legs over the side of the table and pushed himself off anyway. 

Only, he wasn’t expecting his legs to be so weak. His knees buckled as soon as he put his weight on them, and he frantically grabbed onto the table to ease himself down so he didn’t knock himself out. He very suddenly felt dizzy, like the room was spinning, and his head throbbed with a dull ache.

Okay. So maybe something was wrong with him.

“Bruce?” He called out again. He just sort of sat on the floor, unwilling to make even more of a mess out of himself in case someone did come in. He glanced back up at the screen, watching more lime green words flash across it. 

// ASSM. UNIVERSE: #00P1HSU77QY/UV8 // BIOME: ASSM. DECIDUOUS FOREST, NO CLEAR CONTEXT // ASSM. TIME: 3:31AM VIA STARCHART // LOC: ASS. NEW YORK/CHICAGO/NEW JERSEY/MAINE/NEW HAMPSHIRE // ASSM. COORDINATES: NOT ENOUGH INFORMATION //

Rockie blinked, glancing around the room for any sort of nurse-calling device, or maybe his own phone. Besides all the weird looking machines, there was nothing in there that even suggested the presence of human beings. No waiting chairs, tables, not a single phone or book or even a handheld syringe. The walls were bare and there was only one door. That, paired with the wire-filled headset and strange words on the screen, put a bad taste in his mouth.

“Bruce!” He repeated, even if it was futile. Rockie used the legs of the table to pull himself back up, wiggling around until he was haphazardly sitting on the surface of it again. “Bruce!”

“Seven, can you hear me? I’m pulling you out in twenty seconds,”

Rockie flinched when a female voice came from speakers he couldn’t see. He tried his hardest to recognize the it, but it didn’t sound like anyone he knew. Not his friends, not anyone that used to go to Redwood, not even Vera, who he’d more or less written out of his life.

With an exhale, he glanced back at the screen.

// ASSM.INT.LOC: SECOND FLOOR BEDROOM // ASSM.INT.LOC: RIGHTHAND SIDE OF HOME // 

Rockie’s eyes drifted back to the flickering black and white screen. If he squinted hard enough, he could make out trees, maybe a stone wall through the static -- but there was also a border and some curtains framing the image, like the camera was looking out a window. 

The video suddenly morphed and turned like someone was carrying the camera. It spun away from what looked like a window, and as the photo cleared, he saw a door. A dresser. Another door. 

Rockie started to feel a little bit like something was crawling on him, and he leaned forward. In the staticky black and white room, there were some blobs on the floor that looked a little like tossed clothes, and some rectangles on the walls with designs that looked like they could be posters. The camera continued to pan, revealing a large bed, what seemed to be a desk, and four large, familiar shapes hanging on the wall. Shapes like guitars.

Rockie froze, then leaned forward, closer to the screen.

It was his room. 

The machine was displaying his room.

“Seven, I’m pulling you out in five, four, three, two-”

Rockie let out a low groan and dropped his head into his hands when a bolt of agony shot through his skull, leaving not an inch untouched by the reverberating pain. His vision blurred, and the white room spun and swam until it became one indistinguishable blur. 

He tried to call out to Bruce again, but his voice didn’t make it out of his throat. Everything felt strange. Suddenly, the cold surface of the table was gone and there was nothing -- like he was falling, whipping around in the air with zero control over where he was going. His entire body seemed to burn, and he couldn’t see anything, couldn’t hear anything except excruciatingly deafening white noise. 

Slowly, something began to fade into his sight… something red. Orange and red and bubbling. Lava? It was churning way down below, and he was falling through cold clouds that were pelting him with ice so cold it seemed to burn. 

And what was that black platform that was rushing toward him?

SLAM!

Rockie gasped for air the moment he regained control of his body, jolting upright, his eyes darting in every direction. A dull pain pulsed in his muscles like he’d just ran a marathon.

His vision slowly stopped doubling, and his hearing cleared, and he was just…

Sitting. On his bed. His blanket was draped over him, sort of tangled in a way that indicated he’d been thrashing, and all the lights were off but his lamp, how he usually left it when he went to sleep. He looked to the left, scanning the four electric guitars he had hanging next to his bedroom door. To the right was his dresser and several different band posters organized haphazardly on the wall.

He tugged at his t-shirt, trying to calm the way his heart was beating, the way his breathing was coming and going way quicker than he would’ve liked. His clothes were damp with sweat, and so was his hair, hanging loosely down over his eyes. The clock sitting on his bedside table read 3:32am. 

He sighed heavily, running his hands over his face and through his hair. Bruce had told him to come get him if he had another nightmare… but this one hadn’t been so bad. He wasn’t screaming or -- heaven forbid -- throwing up like the other times. Did he really need to go wake Bruce up just for this?

(Would Bruce even be sleeping? Probably not. He hadn’t slept much since Rockie started having nightmares. The Rockie in question pretended not to notice.)

He flopped back on his pillow with a heavy exhale, rubbing his face again. Ever since that night in LA when he dreamed about bombs, his dreams had become complete hellscapes. He had them almost every two or three days; terrible, hyper-realistic horror movie-esque dreams that seemed hellbent on plaguing him endlessly.

With a huff, he rolled over and pulled his blanket over his head.

With the Secret Keeper permanently gone, it couldn’t possibly be her. Maybe it was just his life's worth of trauma finally catching up to him.

At least, that's what he decided to make himself feel better about it.

–

Seven jerked awake so violently the metal table beneath him nearly rocked right over.

His vision was coming and going in waves, his hearing reduced to nothing but white noise. His head was throbbing and his heart was pounding and everything hurt. Something was touching him but he didn’t know what it was.

“Seven. Can you hear me?”

It took every ounce of his willpower to focus just enough to see Red's face hovering above him.

“Red…”

“It’s okay,” He felt her touch his head, but instead of being comforting, it sent a terrible fiery pain rippling across his skin. 

“You did it, Seven. You found him. And now that we know where he is…” She smiled in a way that was supposed to be reassuring, but for some reason, it wasn’t. “We can bring him home to us. To you. And our little family will be complete.”

Seven didn’t say anything. Not that he would’ve known how to respond. Instead, he merely exhaled, curled into a ball on the metal table, and passed out.

—

tag list that KINDA works

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun

@xiaonothere

@skylathescholarly @flyrobinflyy @bookwarm0-0

@custommadeazula

[maccreadysbaby]

House of Wolves

batfamily + oc insert

tw: none

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

I know it’s been a hot minute but... hi. I'm still here and so are our boys. please keep loving them with me!

part thirteen

❝ FAMILY ❞

SATURDAY — JUNE 10 — 3:31am

ROCKIE’S BED WAS SUDDENLY REALLY COLD.

He squirmed around with a muted groan, determined to find a more comfortable position, but his blanket seemed to have vanished out of thin air.

Begrudgingly, he peeled his eyes open and blinked rapidly at the harsh white light that assaulted them. Since when was it so bright in his room? It took a few moments for his surroundings to sink in, for his eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness. But when they did, his stomach dropped.

Rockie sat straight up, his heart already slamming in his chest as he looked in a full circle around him. His bed wasn't warm because he wasn't on his bed. He was sitting on a metal table in the center of a white room, in a thin cream hospital gown that came a little past his knees. There was a sliding door ahead of him, metal and solid, eerily reminiscent of the doors back at Redwood Academy.

He fiddled with the hem of the gown in an attempt to determine if it was real. Bruce had told him to touch things in his nightmares, that it wasn't real if he couldn’t feel it, but what use was that if his nightmares were so realistic that he could feel it all? 

There were several different machines circling him, but none of them looked like anything he’d ever seen before; futuristic and strange with functions he had no hope of identifying. There were tubes and wires leading from the machines to his body — and that's when he realized there was something on his head.

He lifted a hand to his hair and felt a spiderweb of wires there, attached to his head by dozens of t-shaped patches that were buried against his scalp. There were a few screens visible on the machines, but none of them made any sense. He focused on the machine most of the wires seemed to run to, leveling his gaze on a black screen with neon green text dancing across it.

// #MT04007, VITALS: NORMAL // HEART RATE: SAFE // AUG.CON.TIME.REM: 0:33SEC // PSY.DAM.CON.DAM.TIME.REM 0:38SEC // CON.STR: UV1-UV8 // CON.AQU: #MM04008 // 

Rockie tried to make sense out of any of it, but he couldn't, besides the fact that his heart rate was apparently at a safe speed and his vitals were normal. A second screen sitting a few feet behind that one was flashing disorientingly. Despite the high-tech look of the place he was in, this screen was black and white, and flickering with static like a really old television. There was a picture on it but it was hard to make out.

Rockie, with a quick exhale, began to rip the wires off of his scalp. Where was he? Where was Bruce? How had he gotten out of the manor? He wracked his brain to remember but nothing came of it. Wasn’t he just sleeping? Surely no one could’ve broken in and taken him. Had something happened to him? Was he in some kind of high tech secret vigilante hospital?

“Bruce?” He found himself calling, detaching more of the wires from his scalp with small hisses of pain. There was a keypad next to the door, so he assumed leaving required a code. Still, he swung his legs over the side of the table and pushed himself off anyway. 

Only, he wasn’t expecting his legs to be so weak. His knees buckled as soon as he put his weight on them, and he frantically grabbed onto the table to ease himself down so he didn’t knock himself out. He very suddenly felt dizzy, like the room was spinning, and his head throbbed with a dull ache.

Okay. So maybe something was wrong with him.

“Bruce?” He called out again. He just sort of sat on the floor, unwilling to make even more of a mess out of himself in case someone did come in. He glanced back up at the screen, watching more lime green words flash across it. 

// ASSM. UNIVERSE: #00P1HSU77QY/UV8 // BIOME: ASSM. DECIDUOUS FOREST, NO CLEAR CONTEXT // ASSM. TIME: 3:31AM VIA STARCHART // LOC: ASS. NEW YORK/CHICAGO/NEW JERSEY/MAINE/NEW HAMPSHIRE // ASSM. COORDINATES: NOT ENOUGH INFORMATION //

Rockie blinked, glancing around the room for any sort of nurse-calling device, or maybe his own phone. Besides all the weird looking machines, there was nothing in there that even suggested the presence of human beings. No waiting chairs, tables, not a single phone or book or even a handheld syringe. The walls were bare and there was only one door. That, paired with the wire-filled headset and strange words on the screen, put a bad taste in his mouth.

“Bruce!” He repeated, even if it was futile. Rockie used the legs of the table to pull himself back up, wiggling around until he was haphazardly sitting on the surface of it again. “Bruce!”

“Seven, can you hear me? I’m pulling you out in twenty seconds,”

Rockie flinched when a female voice came from speakers he couldn’t see. He tried his hardest to recognize the it, but it didn’t sound like anyone he knew. Not his friends, not anyone that used to go to Redwood, not even Vera, who he’d more or less written out of his life.

With an exhale, he glanced back at the screen.

// ASSM.INT.LOC: SECOND FLOOR BEDROOM // ASSM.INT.LOC: RIGHTHAND SIDE OF HOME // 

Rockie’s eyes drifted back to the flickering black and white screen. If he squinted hard enough, he could make out trees, maybe a stone wall through the static -- but there was also a border and some curtains framing the image, like the camera was looking out a window. 

The video suddenly morphed and turned like someone was carrying the camera. It spun away from what looked like a window, and as the photo cleared, he saw a door. A dresser. Another door. 

Rockie started to feel a little bit like something was crawling on him, and he leaned forward. In the staticky black and white room, there were some blobs on the floor that looked a little like tossed clothes, and some rectangles on the walls with designs that looked like they could be posters. The camera continued to pan, revealing a large bed, what seemed to be a desk, and four large, familiar shapes hanging on the wall. Shapes like guitars.

Rockie froze, then leaned forward, closer to the screen.

It was his room. 

The machine was displaying his room.

“Seven, I’m pulling you out in five, four, three, two-”

Rockie let out a low groan and dropped his head into his hands when a bolt of agony shot through his skull, leaving not an inch untouched by the reverberating pain. His vision blurred, and the white room spun and swam until it became one indistinguishable blur. 

He tried to call out to Bruce again, but his voice didn’t make it out of his throat. Everything felt strange. Suddenly, the cold surface of the table was gone and there was nothing -- like he was falling, whipping around in the air with zero control over where he was going. His entire body seemed to burn, and he couldn’t see anything, couldn’t hear anything except excruciatingly deafening white noise. 

Slowly, something began to fade into his sight… something red. Orange and red and bubbling. Lava? It was churning way down below, and he was falling through cold clouds that were pelting him with ice so cold it seemed to burn. 

And what was that black platform that was rushing toward him?

SLAM!

Rockie gasped for air the moment he regained control of his body, jolting upright, his eyes darting in every direction. A dull pain pulsed in his muscles like he’d just ran a marathon.

His vision slowly stopped doubling, and his hearing cleared, and he was just…

Sitting. On his bed. His blanket was draped over him, sort of tangled in a way that indicated he’d been thrashing, and all the lights were off but his lamp, how he usually left it when he went to sleep. He looked to the left, scanning the four electric guitars he had hanging next to his bedroom door. To the right was his dresser and several different band posters organized haphazardly on the wall.

He tugged at his t-shirt, trying to calm the way his heart was beating, the way his breathing was coming and going way quicker than he would’ve liked. His clothes were damp with sweat, and so was his hair, hanging loosely down over his eyes. The clock sitting on his bedside table read 3:32am. 

He sighed heavily, running his hands over his face and through his hair. Bruce had told him to come get him if he had another nightmare… but this one hadn’t been so bad. He wasn’t screaming or -- heaven forbid -- throwing up like the other times. Did he really need to go wake Bruce up just for this?

(Would Bruce even be sleeping? Probably not. He hadn’t slept much since Rockie started having nightmares. The Rockie in question pretended not to notice.)

He flopped back on his pillow with a heavy exhale, rubbing his face again. Ever since that night in LA when he dreamed about bombs, his dreams had become complete hellscapes. He had them almost every two or three days; terrible, hyper-realistic horror movie-esque dreams that seemed hellbent on plaguing him endlessly.

With a huff, he rolled over and pulled his blanket over his head.

With the Secret Keeper permanently gone, it couldn’t possibly be her. Maybe it was just his life's worth of trauma finally catching up to him.

At least, that's what he decided to make himself feel better about it.

–

Seven jerked awake so violently the metal table beneath him nearly rocked right over.

His vision was coming and going in waves, his hearing reduced to nothing but white noise. His head was throbbing and his heart was pounding and everything hurt. Something was touching him but he didn’t know what it was.

“Seven. Can you hear me?”

It took every ounce of his willpower to focus just enough to see Red's face hovering above him.

“Red…”

“It’s okay,” He felt her touch his head, but instead of being comforting, it sent a terrible fiery pain rippling across his skin. 

“You did it, Seven. You found him. And now that we know where he is…” She smiled in a way that was supposed to be reassuring, but for some reason, it wasn’t. “We can bring him home to us. To you. And our little family will be complete.”

Seven didn’t say anything. Not that he would’ve known how to respond. Instead, he merely exhaled, curled into a ball on the metal table, and passed out.

—

tag list that KINDA works

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun

@xiaonothere

@skylathescholarly @flyrobinflyy @bookwarm0-0

@custommadeazula

[maccreadysbaby]

hey friends :) just wanted to apologize for the radio silence recently. sometimes life sucks but I hope to get back to you and to all of our characters soon! I'm sorry 💔

[maccreadysbaby]

maccreadysbaby is 21 today 🥳🥳

[maccreadysbaby]

thought about the fact asten died earlier and it nearly ruined my morning </3 (pos) that was so evil. i loved every second of that chapter but it was evil

hahah I’m so sorry😂 and thanks!!!! I’ve been getting spammed with those “give me money” asks in my inbox so seeing a genuine one really made my day!!!!!!!!!! Thanks!!!!!!!!

[maccreadysbaby]

[maccreadysbaby]

maccreadysbaby has officially made a sideblog and ain’t NONE of yall gonna find it

[maccreadysbaby]

me: *sees a relatively attractive man*

my brain: LETS WRITE A STORY ABOUT HIM IMMEDIATELY

[maccreadysbaby]

House of Wolves

batfamily + oc insert

tw: death threats, mentions of suicide/death

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

I know it’s short but this is WHAT I WROTE THE SONG FOR SNDJJSDHSHBXN🫠

part twelve

❝ ON BLAST ❞

SATURDAY — JUNE 10 — 8:34am

BENTLEY HADN’T COME OUT OF HIS BEDROOM FOR DAYS. 

Someone was always in there with him, no matter how much he’d rather be alone; whether it be Rockie, Dick, Asten, Bruce, Bellamy, Jason, or whoever. All the family members seemed to take turns flitting around in his room against his will. Trying to talk to him, to be there for him, to give him some vague sort of momentary relief. 

He wished he could tell them that he couldn’t feel anything. That he wasn’t going to breakdown crying or shatter a window or call and beg her back. That he couldn’t. Then maybe they’d leave him alone to drown.

He hadn’t touched his phone since Vera had been at their doorstep. It was laying right by his bed, dinging every now and then, but he didn’t want to touch it. She was all over it and he was afraid seeing her would make the whole thing worse than it already was.

It had taken five hours after Vera left for Bruce to coax Bentley into a state where he could force the water in the manor to go back where it belonged. He guessed he was lucky he could control it enough to make it dry up after he made a mess — though he wasn’t lucky enough to have a magical fix-the-water-damage superpower too. They had to throw out lots of furniture. Bruce kept telling him it was okay — as if Bentley had the headspace to worry about something as trivial as chairs and tables when he couldn’t even go three seconds without seeing Vera’s face engraved in his own mind.

He remembered being surprised that Rockie couldn’t keep food down after Georgia cheated on him years ago. Thirteen year old Bentley couldn’t seem to wrap his mind around how something like that would equal Rockie quite literally falling ill. But suddenly, he understood pretty well.

The whole thing had made him quite sick. Looking back on it now, he wasn’t sure how Rockie had physically survived Georgia cheating, because he hardly thought he was going to. It baffled him how easily Vera could uproot over three entire years of their life and throw it into the fire like waste. He felt entirely hollowed out — like someone had quite literally scraped his body clean, leaving only a measly layer of skin that would blow away and fold in on itself at the slightest touch. Why was it so easy for her to give him up like that? Why was it so easy for her to hook up with someone else?

It might’ve been grotesque, but he wondered if she thought of him. He wondered how many stray thoughts she had when she was deciding their fate. If it had been a battle in her mind or just a blip that she brushed away uncaringly; though something inside told him it was the latter.

He wondered if she’d slept with Jaden because Bentley openly didn’t want to. Just like Georgia had done to Rockie. Had it been stupid of him to think their relationship ran deeper than surface level pleasure? 

Apparently so. Because she didn’t get it, and now he was the one who couldn’t eat a cracker without hauling himself to the bathroom and throwing it back up.

He wasn’t sure what day it was, but the sun was out. He knew that much because Dick had forced him to leave one set of blackout curtains open since sunlight stimulates positive emotions. Bentley wasn’t sure if that were true, seeing as every time he woke up and the sun was shining in his face he wanted to shoot it out of the sky. But whatever. He didn’t have the energy to get up and close them anyway.

The digital clock on his nightstand read 8:38AM. It seemed like every time he blinked, about seven hours passed, and someone new was in his room. Right now, it was Valor.

He was sitting on the right side of Bentley’s bed with a book in his hand. He wasn’t reading out loud like Jason did when he was in there, but Bentley didn’t care. He’d rather it be quiet anyways. Valor was propped against the headboard, one wing outstretched toward Bentley, the feathers subconsciously brushing over his head every now and then. The Bentley in question was just an unidentifiable heap of blankets and pillows with a tuft of red sticking out at the top, like he had been for days.

Bentley appreciated that Valor didn’t try to talk to him. It was much simpler than having to attempt an interaction.

Today, though, the mindless quiet he reveled in had been shattered by noise; repetitive, constant noise that sort of made Bentley want to throw himself out the window even more than he already did.

His phone kept vibrating. It had been all day long. Over and over and over, a constant reminder that there was still a world out there that wasn’t waiting on him.

With an irritated huff, he eventually pointed over Valor’s lap, at the nightstand where his phone was. For the first time in at least three days, he spoke: “Can you give me that?”

Valor was quick on the draw, maybe glad Bentley had decided to open his mouth and make words. He reached over and grabbed the little device. “I can just silence it for you.”

“I’ll have to tell people I’m not dead sometime,” Bentley replied, though there was no real feeling behind it. No real anything, like the words weren’t crossing his mind even as he spoke them. Valor hummed in acknowledgement but said nothing, handing Bentley’s his phone and then going back to his book, though Bentley knew him well enough to know when he was pretending to do something in favor of keeping an eye on someone else.

Bentley, with an exhale, tapped his screen. He had literally thousands of notifications spread across every social media platform he dared put himself on. He scrolled blankly, watching them fly by without actually reading, blinking in disbelief at the sheer number of them.

One of the notifications near the bottom was from an online newspaper, and the headline was stamped across his phone in bold: AFTER THE APOCALYPSE LEAD SINGER VERA LEVANTE SPEAKS OUT ABOUT UNHEALTHY BREAKUP WITH MILLIONAIRE BRUCE WAYNE’S YOUNGEST SON VIA LIVESTREAM.

Bentley merely blinked at it. What did Vera have to speak out about regarding their breakup? It was a clean break; she cheated, so he left. What was there to tell everybody? He knew for a fact she wasn’t going to be honest, it would kill her momentous rise to stardom.

He knew it was a bad idea to click on it. But since when had Bentley ever had a good idea? He tapped on it without much thought, waiting as a loading emblem bobbed across the screen and words materialized in large boxes. The article was decorated at the top by a large, high-definition picture of her live onstage, smiling and waving out at the crowd. It must’ve been the day she came to visit him. Her tiny, dazzling silver outfit stung his eyes and he had to shove away the memories of her crying in it.

He skimmed the first little bit of text: Last night, Friday, June 9th at 10:42pm, breakout star Vera Levante confirmed her breakup with Bentley Wayne, the youngest adopted son of billionaire Bruce Wayne, on a livestream as she conversed with thousands of online fans. It was the keen eyes of her followers questioning why she’d removed photos of him from her social media accounts that prompted the conversation.

Bentley blinked at the screen. He hadn’t realized she’d removed all evidence of him from her socials, but he hadn’t really been on his phone much since the breakup anyways. He still had pictures of her up. Maybe he should take them all down.

Vera answered fans inquiries by replying: “Why did I take down my photos of Bentley? I’m sorry to say that we’re no longer together.”

Sorry. Yeah. That sure sounded like her.

Vera was reluctant to give any details of their breakup, only replying vaguely to her fans' continued questioning by describing the situation as “emotionally charged,” “unexpected,” “unfortunate,” and “messy.” Fans have speculated about the cause but as of now there is no clear answer to what really happened.

It’s important to note that this was Vera’s infamous songwriting friday livestream, a routine stream she does every Friday where she speaks to fans and writes songs with them, allowing them to feed her themes, lyrics, and instrumental ideas. 

As the livestream progressed, Vera asked the fans if they wanted to hear a song she’d been working on, and while it was beautiful, the lyrics were quite telling. Here are some of the lines from the song Vera played on her livestream:

Bentley felt his blood run cold as he scanned the boldened lyrics that were flitting across the screen.

“You said you’d give me the world, but you couldn’t give me your word. It's always something else first, maybe we’re just both cursed, are we?”

“There’s always someone better, I’m always just the debtor, baby,”

“But please don’t leave me, I’m so damn lonely. It hurts when you’re here and it hurts when you’re gone. I won’t want you to leave but won’t drag you along (...) you made me the bad guy, you think you’re so clever?”

“I think I should’ve known that you were listening to your friends, were following the fame trends, are you? (...) You can’t just write me off to get your point across that you know someone better, that I’m always the debtor, baby.”

“I’ll make you hate yourself for leaving me,”

“I want to hear you say baby (...) that I’m not the bad guy and you're just a debtor.”

His mouth was suddenly really dry.

Fans are speculating thanks to the song she performed that Vera was innocent in the couple’s splitting. Due to the nature of the lyrics, many believe the millionaire’s son may have cheated or been cheating on Vera and was trying to place the blame on her for their split, which she hastily shut down by performing on her livestream.

Bentley didn’t say anything, but he did immediately swipe the article away.

Of course. What more should he have expected? Vera was famous now, and that meant she had to protect her image, even if that meant destroying his. He didn’t even care about his online reputation, but the fact that thousands of people now thought, not only that he would break her heart, but that he would cheat on her?

With a tense inhale, he dared to open his instagram page. He had so many private messages that the number was only registering at 99+. Did he even want to open them?

No. But he did.

He’d never been told to kill himself more in his entire life. Actually, he’d never been told that in his entire life. But here, now, there had to be hundreds of messages – from people being polite and defending Vera’s honor, to ones that said they’d shoot him in public next time they saw him, followed by strings of gun and knife emojis. Every platform was the same; buzzing with people who only craved drama telling him the various ways he deserved to die.

Suddenly, his phone was wrenched out of his hand. “Don’t read that shit,” Valor ordered simply, silencing Bentley’s phone and tossing it back on the table.

Bentley blinked. “You saw it?”

Valor looked over at him, his gray eyes bouncing across Bentleys face. He looked a little apologetic when he spoke. “It’s trending…”

Bentley said nothing.

Valor breathed in and out, huffing as he brought his book down onto his lap. “If I had known she could be a backstabbing two-faced bitch, then I’d have stopped being friends with her a long time ago.”

“Don’t call her that,” Bentley stated flatly. Valor looked over at him, but didn’t press, eyes trailing back to the book.

“Eventually the truth will come out. Chase knows and he can’t lie to save his life,” Valor continued, trying to be uplifting even though the thought of having his name on blast again just made Bentley cringe, whether it be the truth or not.

“I don’t care,” He replied, numbly. Valor glanced over at him, and after a moment of quiet, he reached over and rubbed Bentley’s hair.

With a quiet sigh, he continued: “I’ll delete everything if you want me to. It’ll be like she doesn’t exist.”

Deciding that that would be better than sitting and going through all the pictures and posts and messages himself, Bentley merely nodded at him. With that, Valor reached over and grabbed Bentley’s phone and went to work, his other hand still moving absentmindedly in his red hair.

Bentley didn’t want to die.

But he didn’t necessarily want to be alive right then, either.

—

tag list that KINDA works

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun

@xiaonothere

@skylathescholarly @flyrobinflyy @bookwarm0-0

@custommadeazula

[maccreadysbaby]

if a man has nice teeth he is immediately 10x hotter, no I will not be taking arguments

[maccreadysbaby]

I’m about halfway through reading it and I am utterly devastated

here’s a little meme I made

[1/3]

[maccreadysbaby]

House of Wolves

batfamily + oc insert

tw: none

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

writing b like this is gonna be so rough you guys 🫠

part eleven

❝ FLASH FLOOD ❞

SUNDAY — JUNE 4 — 7:49PM

BENTLEY HAD NEVER SEEN THE WORLD IN BLACK AND WHITE UNTIL NOW. The saturation seemed to drain out of everything in sight as he descended the Manor stairs and headed toward the entryway. The remnants of the golden summer sunset were shining brightly through the windows, making the whole room glow, but to him, it wasn’t bright at all. He couldn’t hear much. Everything had become muted, like his head was underwater. 

He felt the familiar writhe of liquid from the pipes in the house, but he forced it away. He knew if he let it slip he wouldn’t be able to stop it. He couldn’t flood the Manor, that wouldn’t be fair to everyone else in it. He tried to focus on his own blood instead, but his heart was slamming around in his chest, skipping beats and booming like it was trying to escape, to run away from the strange empty space that was now inside of him. Like he was hollow.

Bentley made it to the giant front door.

He’d never hated that front door more in his entire life. 

He was thankful he was the only one down there, because when he reached for the handle, his hand was trembling embarrassingly. He shook it out and righted himself. He let his fingertips brush the handle, and in one quick motion he had to physically force his body to perform, he swung the front door open.

Daggers. That’s what he felt when he saw her. Vera was hopping up to the door at the same time he opened it, a bright, happy smile on her face, the Manor grounds a perfect backdrop behind her with a multicolored sunset. She hadn’t even changed from her last concert — a sparkly silver top and skirt, both just about as small as they could be without her wearing a bikini, and her long black and purple hair was tied up in a voluminous, stick-straight ponytail. She had on the largest black boots in the world and her makeup was flawless, crystalline jewelry making her brown eyes pop fantastically.

It felt like a thousand daggers being hurdled directly into his body, covering every inch of his skin. Everything seemed to snap back into reality and then some, becoming oversaturated, overstimulating. The colors were too bright, her clothes were too shiny, the birds were too loud, the breeze was too strong. He heard the door close behind him and it sounded more like a bomb than a door. His ears threatened to ring.

Vera bounced right up to him, coming in close, closing in, probably to kiss him. Bentley wondered just how many people she’d kissed that weren’t him, and the thought made him feel sick. He had no way of knowing. 

He ended up bringing a hand up between the two of them just as she drew in close, pushing her lightly away before she could reach him.

Vera frowned, furrowing her brow at him. “Hey, are you okay? You look kind of sick.”

Bentley said nothing. What was he supposed to say? While she was speaking, she reached up and put a hand on the side of his face. Her contact seemed to burn; but not in a good way. 

Bentley thought he might throw up again if he opened his mouth, so he just reached up and brushed her hand off. He wasn’t sure what to do. He was sure he’d never felt so many things at one time. Vera’s expression became concerned, her frown deepening. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

The words felt like poison. Bentley didn’t know what to say. To do. He felt his eyes burning and forced it away, letting his gaze fall to his own socked feet. He was afraid that if he looked at her too long, he might not say anything at all. Maybe she would have her fun and then get it out of her system, and she could still be his, and he could keep what he knew to himself forever until they were married and looked back and laughed.

Somehow, he didn’t think they could ever laugh about this. He thought about his future, and for the first time in over three years, he couldn’t see her in it at all. And that terrified him. 

“V…” Was just about the only word he could manage. He felt his eyes burning again and cursed them into the wind, wishing that Chase hadn’t called him at all and he had no idea about any of this. Was it wrong of him to wish he was ignorant to the whole thing? 

Vera shifted her weight, looking more upset, more confused, more worried by the moment. “Bentley, hey,” She tried, stepping closer. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Bentley swallowed hard. He felt himself shaking again so he put his hands behind his back.

“You should leave,” Was all he worked up.

“What? What’s wrong? Are you sick?” She continued. She seemed to care but he wondered if she ever had, if anything he’d experienced with her was ever real.

Bentley looked up at her, brown eyes on brown, one a lot emptier than the other. “You should go,” He whispered.

“Why?” She asked, daring to move closer again. Bentley took a step back, keeping the distance between them. It would be too easy to let her go with a warning; having her there in person was dangerous. It would be too easy for him to let it go.

He opened his mouth one, two, three times to no avail. It was hard to breathe, but he wasn’t really surprised since it was hard to simply be alive right then. He sniffed lightly, forcing himself not to lose what little composure he had left. “I… know you’ve been cheating on me.”

Vera’s face flushed white. Suddenly, her entire demeanor changed; fading from a vibrant rockstar and closing in on itself until all Bentley could really see was shame. She folded her arms around herself like they could somehow soften the blow that had already come, her lips parting like she wanted to speak but no noise, no words came out.

Bentley merely stared at her. It hurt to do so. It was Vera, his Vera, the Vera that had been by his side for years. The same Vera who had stuck with him when they thought Asten was dead. The same Vera who invited him to Redwood Academy. The same Vera who was the entire reason he had most of his friends today, the reason his life had become the beautiful reality it had… but somehow, it didn’t look like her. Not anymore. 

“…Why?” 

He was barely able to force the word out, terrified of the answer. He already knew what it was going to be whether she said it aloud or not — it was the same truth that had loomed over him for his entire life, pinning him in place and leaving him unable to escape its grasp no matter how hard he fought against it. 

He just wasn’t good enough. He never was.

He felt ten years old again, begging his father to explain why he didn’t love him in the back room of a warehouse. Somehow, this hurt worse. Different. He’d made peace with the fact that his father didn’t want him. He’d found his place in a family even if he didn’t really deserve it. But this? It felt like fate laughing in his face, finding every single way it possibly could to let him know he wasn’t enough. He’d never be enough. Not for her, not for his father, not for anybody.

Vera didn’t even try to defend herself. Tears welled up in her brown eyes until she was well and truly crying, her makeup trailing down her face. “I don’t know,” She sobbed.

Bentley found it hard to understand why she was the one crying. 

“Please leave,” He whispered. That seemed to be all he could say. 

There were no dramatics. With no other words, no attempts at reaching out, no heartfelt begging or wretched excuses, Vera turned, and she went back to her car.

At least she had that much respect left for him.

He watched her get in, in her shiny concert outfit, all done up and beautiful. Her makeup running down her face and dripping off her chin. He wondered if that was the last time he’d ever see her in person — crying her eyes out. If every other time he saw her, she’d be a shiny rockstar on a silver screen. Someone he used to know before she made it big and decided he wasn’t enough to fill the space anymore.

That’s how it always seemed to be. Like life got bigger for everyone but Bentley always stayed the same, and as everything else grew, he just shrank and shrank until they couldn’t see him anymore.

It was like that when his mother died and his father’s life became a mission. It was like that when all of his friends started going off to college. When Bellamy made different friends at a different school. When Dick moved in with Babs. When everyone moved out and grew up and got famous and started working and left him behind with nothing to do and nowhere to do it.

He shouldn’t have expected any less — it was the pattern of his life. He guessed he was just foolish enough to believe it could change. That it would change… with her.

He had always hoped for the best; that his father would change his mind, that he wouldn’t be forgotten, that he wouldn’t be ignored anymore. That maybe, for one person, he could be the most important thing no matter how big everything else got.

But it never worked that way. Not for him.

He watched her silver rental car back-up and pull out of the driveway. It went down the long drive and through the automatic gates, turning left and vanishing into the sunset. 

The moment it was out of his sight, something seemed to move. Like every childish hope that remained inside of him about being enough had been attached to her, dragged thin through the streets until they finally snapped, leaving him with… 

Nothing.

Bentley turned around and went back inside. Everything was too much. The coolness of the door handle made him flinch, the squeak of hinges made him cringe, the brightness of the light made him squint. He closed the door, and it was loud. Too loud. 

He didn’t register the roaring in his ears until a violent rush of water sprayed like a pressure washer from beneath the door of the downstairs bathroom, covering the hallway in a millisecond, seeping into the library, the office, the den. A few seconds later and sheets of water were rushing down the stairs like a waterfall. The entire manor groaned, and the air was filled with deafening white noise, like the house was sat directly on top of Niagara Falls.

Bentley couldn’t breathe. He hadn’t felt that in over three years — that something that slithered around his lungs and squeezed so tight he had no hope of moving any air. The dread that tore at his heart and made his chest ache. One second he was watching the house flood, the second, he was on the floor, the water swirling and spiraling up in the air around him. His back was against the front door. It was smooth but it felt like sandpaper against him, like everything, the noise, the light, the very air was trying to shred and rip him apart until there was truly nothing left.

He felt absolutely everything and utterly nothing, until someone was touching him. Two hands, heavy on his shoulders, and a pair of bright, supernatural green eyes shining just a little ways away from his own.

Bentley had the biggest breakdown he’d ever had in his life. And no one, not Rockie, not Asten, not even Bruce was able to pull him out of it until the Manor was almost underwater.

And part of him wanted her to feel how bad it hurt.

—

tag list that KINDA works

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun

@xiaonothere

@skylathescholarly @flyrobinflyy @bookwarm0-0

@custommadeazula

[maccreadysbaby]

it brought up a real human being instead of a fictional character… but you won’t hear me complaining.

Look at him omg

@skylathescholarly @flyrobinflyy

you are going on a blind date that pinterest set up for you, find out who will be the lucky one and how the evening will end 💌

on pinterest search the following topics and post the first pin that will show up in each category

fictional character

date / night date

gift

outfit

dessert

love quote

tags: @catchmeonyourceiling @lovethornes @daystarpoet @beaucereza @chxrrybxmbi @dolcecuore @sororygilmore @auntiejohn @binibby @bvrnesher @ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat @certaimromance @effortlesslysweet @aezuria @mothswan @lydiasfalling @amrplastique @xoxorory @xoxoivy13 @laufeysvalentine @minorlyatfault @jjsblueberry and whoever wants to join <3

[maccreadysbaby]

hey. currently feeling much better and trying to get my life back online atm 🥲 not sure what kind of insane murder sickness I had but it’s fading now. so things should start coming out again here soon! I’m so sorry for the momentary silence :(

[maccreadysbaby]

I’m so sorry guys I’m still very sick and idk what’s wrong with me 😭 please wait for me ok

IVE NEVER BEEN THIS SICK IN MY LIFE HOLY SHIT ITS BEEN LIKE A WEEK AND IM STILL DYING

[maccreadysbaby]

IVE NEVER BEEN THIS SICK IN MY LIFE HOLY SHIT ITS BEEN LIKE A WEEK AND IM STILL DYING

[maccreadysbaby]

crocodile tears was a freaking RIDE and somehow the books are ONLY GETTING WORSE

I really liked the way the Alex Rider tv series ended. I’m a little disappointed that we didn’t get to see the following book plots (ark angel, where Alex goes to space! And the mission where Alex meets Ash, etc), but it is also supremely satisfying to see Mrs Jones take over MI6 (or the Department, as they referred to it on the show) and them decide to (hopefully) leave Alex alone until after he graduates AND seeks them out